


Doodling Destiny (Soulmate AU)

by ivybucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29336583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivybucky/pseuds/ivybucky
Summary: Soulmate wear the same marks and scars each other gets, including doodles
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Doodling Destiny (Soulmate AU)

**Author's Note:**

> all of my marvel works can be found at ivybucky on tumblr :)

Bucky Barnes didn’t have a soulmate.

At least that’s what he used to tell himself before he became the Winter Soldier. Before the war, he had never beared the scars or marks of another. Nothing to show that he had someone out there that was made for only him. When he enlisted he could only hope that they wasn’t someone out there about to endure the pain he was about to go through.

When Hydra captured Bucky after the fall, his only hope was that you weren’t out there. Somewhere along the mixed of murder, mayhem, and brainwashing years after the fall, after enduring the mental and physical scars of his past, he felt it. He felt a pressure on his knee. Not pain, he knew what that felt like. No, this felt like someone was lightly pressing it with a hand. When he looked down at his knee, he found a scrape that hadn’t been there before. No blood came out, but it still looked fresh. With his profession he was able to play it off an injury from a mission.

Over the years, that’s exactly what he did for the next several years until he found Steve. Every injured you had, he wore as his own battle wounds. When he was finally himself again, he relished in the moment of it all. He relished in the fact that you even existed. He relished in the fact that someone was made just for him.

In his moment of bliss he realized that while he wore your marks with pride, she might not do the same. He was damaged. He was broken. Would she bare all the same scars even after she became his? His arm… would she have to live with that too?

His internal struggle almost distracted him from the familiar pressure on his right arm, starting at the wrist moving up the inside of his forearm. It was slow moving, only growing gradually. He caught himself holding his breath to see the final result. When done, the artwork on his forearm blew him away. At his wrist, a flower, what looked like a simple daisy was drawn, looking somewhat wilted, and continuing down his forearm to his elbow crease, petals seems to be falling, a small pile of petals at the bottom. The entire image was beautiful, causing his mouth to twist up into a small smile. Yet, something about the drawing made him sad. The drooping of the flower, the loss of petals gave him the feeling of dread. You had obviously drawn it on your arm, did it reflect how you felt in that moment? The soulmate bond had his heart hurting for you.

He didn’t know what compelled him to pick the pen on his nightside table, but nevertheless he did. He wanted to make you happy somehow, even if it was something small. With his metal hand, he started doodling on the palm of his hand. He somehow managed to draw a small watering can with water pouring onto the wilting flower transferred on to his arm. He smiled, hoping you would understand the sentiment.

In a cafe in downtown New York, you sat at the bar against the window tapping your pen against your coffee mug on your break. You gasped as you felt a warm pressure on your right palm. Of course, you had felt the occasional pressure from a scar of his, but it never ceased to surprise you when you felt it. You looked down that your hand as you watched the watering can progress. A smile fell upon your face. You’d been down lately, feeling like the only thing you could do wander around the city hoping he was even in the city. His response to your somewhat depressing picture only meant that he was trying to cheer you up. He was out there and that’s all that mattered.

A couple of weeks later, the sky opened up on New York City. Not literally, of course, that only happened once before. The rain that poured out of the sky lasted for days. At night, the rain drops glistened on the windows surrounding your apartment. You were able to look over the city and watch the lightning as more rain approached. You always loved the rain. You loved bundling up in a comfy sweater and fuzzy socks and just watch the lightning move across the sky.

That day, you were off work, finally able to just do nothing all day. You sat at your table perched by the window and stared down and a blank page. Sure you were good at doodling, but when you were presented with a real canvas to work on, you drew a blank. Sighing you fiddled with the bracelet on your left wrist. You picked up the pen and began to draw on the back of that hand. A cartoon cloud graced your skin, pouring rain onto a small flower. You paused smiling softly at the drawing, before continuing.

Bucky had pulled a chair to the window in the Avengers tower to watch the rain. Thunder softly shook the room causing the corner if his mouth to quirk up at the rumble. Something about a storm calmed the one raging inside him when he couldn’t sleep. The way lightning would brighten the entire sky. The way the city lights would amplify off the raindrops. It was just wonderful.

Bucky closed his eyes, listening to the wind howling against the Avengers tower and thought of you. He hoped you liked the rain. Something told him you were a storm to be reckoned with yourself. He sighed at the thought of you. Just then is when he felt it.

He was used to the pressure that came with the marks. Small cuts here and there was nothing unknown to him. But he’d never felt it on that are before. He closed his eyes in sorrow, knowing that the pressure was just a figment of his mind. There was no way a mark would show up on his metal arm. He didn’t want to look down at his hand and not see you there. Some part of him told him he had to though.

He gasped as he saw black ink grace the back of his hand. He practically melted when your your flower thrived until the small storm you drew. His smile only grew larger as the flowers turned into vines. God, you were good for him. He let out a small laugh at the thought of you again. You were in the city, too.

“I have to find you,” he whispered, getting up to get a marker. He sat back down by the window, uncapping the marker.

Where are you? He wrote on his forearm. He’d be damned if he let another moment without talking to you pass by.

You gasped looking down at your forearm reading the words over and over. You were so lost in shock you nearly missed the words that followed.

I need to find you. I know you’re in the city, it’s raining.

You heart rate sped up. He was here? God, you wanted to see him. You took the pen, biting the end before responding.

Your handwriting dotted across inside of his palm. He nearly wept at your response.

Tomorrow.

Bucky walked into the small cafe downtown early the next morning, waiting for you to tell him where to go. Something about the coffee shop drew him in, something indescribable. He went to the cashier ordering a tea to hopefully calm himself down. The barista smiled at him, taking his order.

As he waited, he admired the art that covered his arms that day. More flowers dotted his left forearm, wrapping around like a vine, leading up to a large flower on the back of his hand. On the back of his right hand rested a small image of a sun peaking out of rain clouds, much like the weather that day. To Bucky, that picture meant something different. You were the sun to his rain. His focus was shifted when he heard a sweet voice call his name.

“James?” His jaw went slack slightly when he took the owner of the voice in. Beautiful, entrancing, he could come up with a million synonyms to describe you. You. He didn’t know it was you, but he was still nervous to go up to you. Slowly, he walked up to the counter. He shyly looked down as he reached for the cup out of your hand.

The moment his hand wrapped around the cup, his world stopped.

He stared as the hand offering the cup mirrored his. Flowers wrapping around the forearm, like a vine, leading to a big gorgeous sunflower on the back of the hand. A gasp came from you, recognizing the art that littered his metal arm. You let go of the cup prematurely, the tea spilling all over the counter. Neither of you bothered to care. All you could do was stare at each other.

“It’s you,” Bucky said softly, smiling a bit. “You’re mine.”

You swiftly move around the counter, taking your apron off. When you got to him, you didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck, tears near falling out of your eyes. You felt his arms immediately wrap tightly around your middle, instantly relaxing to your hold.

“It’s you,” you whispered. “I’m yours.”


End file.
